.Current Mood: sleepy All the time! Current Music: Depeche Mode/BeeGee's/ Pink Floyd
A/N; Thank you all very much for hanging in there with me and this story...but doesn't anyone have anything(even if it's unfavorable or a seemingly unimportant question) to say? Thanks especially for bearing with all the typos!
Part A
Marco's eyes narrowed as he looked into those soo bright, soo sky/sea-blue eyes...
Looking into/at Dylan's eyes...that slight hint of green almost gone...like the strawberry-blond curls that are darkening now, slowly, but definitely changing to something...else.
He smiles as his eyes move down the longer...thicker...even stronger body.
But inside it all...behind those even more intense eyes...it's still HIS DYLAN!
Marco's eyes widen a little...in wonder...
Because in that second/stretched-out moment, a great many things seem to...gel...and come clear to him.
He thinks/realizes: 'So this is how people wind up with things to tell each other when they are old and grey and you'd think they already know everything there is to know about each other!'
A thought that is there and gone in less than a millionth of a second.
Not really...secrets..
No, not really...
Just things that don't need to be told...now.
Maybe never.
The spaces they make don't matter...now.
The other places he'd gone while they'd been separated...things he'd learned there.
The boys he'd met at a club he'd never known existed till Tom told him things he(Tom) thought would make him give up on Dylan for good.
The talk with Dylan's mom about why she'd been so happy when Dylan had brought him to their home that first time.
She hadn't gone into specifics about Dylan's first experiences...the first time he'd given his heart...but she had told him how Dylan had been after that; about the coldness, the determination to take none of the ones that followed...eventually...seriously.
If his father hadn't had a few 'very stern discussions' with him about how a...'date' aught to be treated; even if you never intended to see them again...
Marie-Ellise had left the sentence unfinished, staring at nothing as she thought back to that time, one finger trailing over a Hockey puck mounted on a block of wood that sat on her son's desk.
When she looked back at Marco, he nodded, biting his lips, thinking of the way Dylan's eyes could get sometimes during a game...how coldly focused...his face showing no emotion but determination.
He'd never relly given that look much thought, not really.
If askedhe would've said(if he he even answered a question like that) that he'd always foound it kinda...sexy.
Never considering it in relation to, say...a particular person...in a one on one sort of situation.
And certainly not ever...
Thinking about it now though...
There was no mercy in that look.
Marco had never expected to be Dylan's first anything, had nothing but the thinnest of hopes(at first) that the older, soo gorgeous, so-popular-he-could-have-anybody, walking-dream would even give him more than the time of day!
Dylan's first love had been...an older MAN...not boy...full-grown man!
A guy closer to their fathers' age!
That knowledge made what they had; the respect, the TRUST...and...understanding, even MORE... amazing to him.
And Dylan did understand him better than anyone besides his mom ever had.
Things like this...now..
Marco pressed his face into his boyfriends chest, squeezed him tight for a second before pulling back to take hold of Dylan's face again.
This kiss; gentle and sweet...clinging...ending slowly in sipping little pecks that made Dylan hold on to him even tighter, as tremors spread through him.
Love for the boy in his arms washed over Dylan in a dizzying wave; moistening his eyes...putting a lump in his throat.
Marco couldn't help but remember...
The boy Tom had tried to set him up with by telling this muscle-bound ditz that he(Marco) liked bare chests...if they were revealed properly...
So this idiot had walked up, introduced himself and stripped of his shirt!
Then, grinning, he'd offered to buy Marco a drink.
Marco smiled with his teeth holding onto Dylan's bottom lip, hummed with pleasure at the taste/sensation.
Dylan understands.
It isn't bare chests.
It something about the way he looks taking a pull-over shirt off...no matter what's under it!
And HIS chest!
"I love you!" they said when they drew back for air; both of them said it at the same time.
Dylan smiled delightedly.
Marco smiled too, but his eyes held more than delight ...
That fire was back, and it stole Dylan's breath...his words...
Any thought but Marco!
Marco's hands moved up to Dylan's shoulders...slid down his arms to the cuffs of his shirt sleeves...unfastened both buttons simultaneously while he stared into Dylan's eyes.
He smiled at the look on the big blond's face...lifted his face; calling Dylan's lips down to brush with his own.
When Marco glanced at the neck of the shirt Dylan's hands came up to unfasten the buttons there, but Marco stopped him.
The younger boy kissed skin above that first button, then unfastened it himself.
He did this with each one; kissing and tasting each newly uncovered patch of skin... brushing his lips over the almost invisible fine red hairs there... till he came to where it was tucked in at his lover's waist.
By then Dylan was leaning on the door again, eye lids fluttering, that beautiful chest rising and falling quickly with each panted breath.
His hands clenched at his sides, fighting to keep from grabbing Marco and attacking him right there on the floor!
When Marco laid one hand over the buckle of his belt, pressed, began to slide that hand lower, Dylan did grab his hand.
He had to look away from the pools of molten chocolate...that's how Marco's eyes looked to him now...drowning-deep.
"No...can't..!" Dylan drew a deep shuddering breath; lashes fluttering closed again for a moment.
Marco's eyes were glued to Dylan's face; loving the effect he was having on him, seeing it.
His fingers closed round the buckle and pulled, drawing Dylan in so he could get his arms round him.
The older boy sucked in breath, moaned as he wrapped his arms round Marco, buried his face in his hair, whispered;
"God!"
Marco held him, hands moving soothingly over his back...easing him away from that edge.
When Dylan was calmer, breathing more normally, Marco whispered'
"Take off your shoes."
Asking no questions, he heeled them off and before he could even wonder 'what's next?'; Marco was unfastening his belt and pulling the shirt out.
The rest of the buttons were quickly undone, and those small, hot hands moving up his body and sliding it off his shoulders.
Of course this bared the now even wider expanse of that glorious chest.
Marco lost track of his 'plan'(and his English) for few delicious moments...
With hands, lips, and tongue...and adoring Italian phrases whispered too rapidly and too disjointedly for Dylan to even hope to follow, Marco paid homage to his boyfriend's chest till the older boy was whimpering and moaning; whispering his name over and over..
Marco silenced him with a kiss; fingers sliding and locking into the wildly tangled curls.
Dylan didn't know when he'd finished getting the shirt off, or even which of them had done it, but his arms were free now, and he wrapped them round Marco.
The big strong hands moving hungrily over that small but soo perfectly shaped, firmly muscled body; bringing soft sighs and moans from the somewhat swollen dark lovely lips...
His hands gripped Dylan's hips, squeezing and massaging.
Of course this caused Dylan's hips to move...and this close the towel round Marco's waist started to slide..
Marco reached for the towel.
Dylan scooped him up, holding him at the waist, the towel still between Marco's bare skin and Dylan's hands.
They were both smiling, staring into each others eyes as Marco wrapped his legs round Dylan's waist.
Dylan's hands moved lower; to hold him there.
The feel of the cloth sliding on his skin with the movement of those big sure hands brought a deep,sighing moan from Marco's parted lips, his eyelids fluttered closed.
That sound.
The look on that beautiful face.
Knowing it was...His...for/because of Him!
Dylan could only stare.
Feeling something so strong and sharp...love/pride...and...a greedy sort of...fiercely possessive...something.
His chest heaved with it...mouth open, lips trembling with words he had no breath for...
'Mine! MY MARCO!' his very soul wanted to scream!
His grip on the boy so hard he knew there would be bruises.
Marks...
His Marks!
And Marco; when his eyes opened, the knowledge of all this is there in them...
And he is smiling!
Leaning forward, Marco bit into the base of his neck...trailed little bites up the side of it while Dylan shivered and moaned.
Marco's tongue soothed over His Marks...
And Dylan's fingers moved on him, flexing and sliding on him through the towel.
Marco, his lips only a breath from brushing his lovers ear, whispered;
"I believe you wanted to ...start...with the couch?"
The sting of Marco's teeth when he nipped his earlobe brought a growl from deep in Dylan's chest...his gut.
That wild, untamed look, like some jungle creature...a Lion perhaps, the one that had caused Fr.'mo so much concern, was in his eyes now.
But Marco loves that look.
Loves that he can put that look on this face.
To him it says; right now... he is the only thing on Dylan's mind!
And since one particularly hot bout of love-making during which Marco had stared into Dylan's eyes, thrilled at the sight of this intensity, and whispered;
"Say it!"
To which Dylan had almost growled;
"Mine! You. Are. Mine. Us... This. Mine!"
Then he'd wrapped his arms round him so tightly, though the touch of his lips had been gentle at first, the grip of his fingers so strong...so possessive...
Marco loves this look...because... he feels the same way.
Taking Hold of Marco at the waist he lifted him higher, licked a trail down from his collar bone to his left nipple.
Using his lips, tongue, and teeth...his whole mouth...he teased it to a hard almost too sensitive peak.
As Marco squirmed and moaned he pressed his open mouth just below it, teeth threatening... he brought those gently scraping teeth together slowly...over and over.
Marco's hands clamped down harder and harder on his tormentors biceps, but that grip had nothing to do with fear of falling or being dropped.
He knew what was coming...
Dylan nipped at the now soo sensitive skin he'd been teasing, then drew it between his lips...using his tongue expertly on his love ..sucking him in till his teeth almost break the skin.
But not quite...
The Dream 21-Bkdoc27February 15th, 14:21Current Location:pub. lib.Current Mood: aggravatedCurrent Music:Eenya, Depeche Mode, Pink Floyd
*Joseph Prince
Fr.'Mo drove back slowly,he had a lot on his mind.
He enjoyed being included in his peoples private lives, considering his purpose accomplished; that if they invited a priest to things that had nothing to do with 'church' things, may, just maybe they took their relationship with God in the way they were supposed to...made HIM part of their everyday lives too.
At least he hoped that was what it meant.
In all his years as a priest, he had faced many challenges...
Families torn apart by wars; relocation was often one of the solutions people resorted to first and Canada is so much larger and freer than 'back-home' for so many.
By prison sentences; he was often hard pressed to keep these people from wanting to completely disown each other:the prisoner because of his initial belief that he had shamed the family beyond repair;the family(read the 'Father') because 'He must be hell-bound and completely 'lost' to them.
Most of the mothers were mostly just very quiet; crying a lot and casting a few pleading looks between their husbands and their priest.
Gulielmo often thought it was the prayers of all those mothers...over whatever amount of time it took, more than anything else that really brought their sons and daughters out of the darkness that led to incarceration and into the fold eventually.
That he was meant to be minister to God's people he had never doubted.
Upon learning, from his mother one day on the way to early Mass that we are supposed to (to him it felt more like allowed to) pray for each-other little Gulielmo had been delighted and couldn't wait to see what would happen!
His mother had told him that praying is what we call it when we talk to God.
This had brought on what she called his 'There must be more to it than that!' look, so she had explained;
"You know...when you talk to that 'friend-of-yours'... The one who told you about Nonna Tia's 'cold', and how it would get better if she went to the beach more often."
Years later they would learn that his aunt was prone to sinus infections, and the salt air was indeed one way of relieving them.
There were many such...occurrences in his life as he grew up, but his mother had always treated his priesthood like something she expected him to...grow out of!
Oh, to be certain she was proud of him when he was accepted,and went off to begin the work of learning to be a priest, but was forever asking him how it was going, was he having any doubts, was he ready to come home yet, and the like.
His father had even scolded her a little, saying that it seemed she was trying to discourage the boy!
After that she mostly kept her questions for when it was just the two of them, never failing to remind him that if he changed his mind she would love him just as much,and be just as proud of him, whatever he decided to be...or do.
When he left for a time to go back to school and take psychology she had seemed happier, more optimistic.
Until he went back, even though he told her he thought it would make him an even better priest.
There had never been any protestants in his family, and most mothers would have been only too happy at having a priest in the family, but her lack of certainty remained...
And here he was again, as he found himself every now and then, wondering if she might not be right after all.
Wrestling with himself about whether or not he can continue to lead/shepherd 'His' children(more often sheep)in this way; as a representative of the Catholic Church...or not.
There had been a letter.
Nothing to worry about...not...threatening or anything.
Just a copy of a newsletter specifically detailing the stand the church took in regards to 'Same-Sex' couples.
And now his boys(that's how he had come to think of Marco and Dylan now, as His boys) were having the kind of 'problem' that lead to only one of two places.
Either they would split-up for good because of guilt, whether it was real or imagined and the interference of the things that love to intensify such things...
Or there would soon be plans for a wedding.
And then there was his old school chum,his English friend who kept sending him news about this new Grace preacher.*
Just what he needed right now, more reason to doubt if his church really wasn't missing...something!
He believes his lord laughs with him in times like these!
Yes, he could ask him...or he could make a decision and see where it leads...
By the time he got back, parked and was heading up the stairs that led to the private entrance he turned at the top of the steps to look up at the clear star-filled sky.
The moon was large and bright.
A perfect night for a stroll...in warmer weather of course.
He firmly believed we are supposed to enjoy all of God's wondrous creations...
All his children.
If he stood here long enough, he could say that the brandy he was planning on was actually necessary to warm away the chill!